


Dark Adrenaline

by Katsitting (Nekositting)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Don't Try This At Home, Dubious Consent, Escort Harry, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, No Lube, Painful Sex, Politician Tom, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 01:12:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11197338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekositting/pseuds/Katsitting
Summary: He was a snake—definitely. A conniving man that forced people into corners simply because he wanted to see if he could. He cared little for the feelings of others, using them just as he was using Harry to attract the attention of the political socialites in the Gala. Harry had suspected there was a far more hidden game at play when he had been in the hotel with him earlier, having caught that Riddle had set his machinations on him rather than on prominent figures in the hall.But how the bloody hell was he supposed to know it would end up like this?





	Dark Adrenaline

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags! (And please, do not try this at home. Not without lube. Never without lube).
> 
> This is not a tumblr drabble, so it is its own separate story. I hope you enjoy, leave comments if you liked or kudos. 
> 
> Thank you to my beta erised-selddir for her hard work and patience :P

“Do you know why you’re here?” Harry flinched, startled out of his thoughts by the silky croon the man had spoken with. It had been entirely unexpected.

After all, Harry had not even finished discussing the terms of their agreement. It was hardly proper to be flirted with without having at least some lines drawn in the sand.

“Yes. You offered to pay me a boatload of money for this…favor.” Harry trailed off, clenching his fists to control some of the unease and apprehension he felt about the whole affair. He should not feel this unsettled—so affected by the casual way the man regarded him. But everything about the interaction unnerved him.

It wasn’t so much that Harry was about to sell his soul to the devil for the entire evening. Though that certainly contributed to his anxiety.

The man hummed silently, approval coloring his tone at something that Harry did not quite understand. Was there something in his tone—a message her had somehow passed to the man that Harry did not know of? Harry was not sure what it was that caused the man too look at him like the cat ate the canary, and it definitely did nothing to assuage his concerns.

He had worked with others in the past—big names that wanted a night or two where they did not have to worry that their potential bedmate would murder them in their sleep. It was a fair arrangement that Harry had no trouble being a part of.

It meant money, and it certainly put food on the table. There were even moments where the arrangements could be quite pleasurable.

But this was something completely different from the typical arrangement his clients approached him with. Hell, this man was the total opposite of his usual clientele. This man was handsome—almost bordering pretty. And that was saying a lot considering Harry did not consider himself ugly by any means. Harry knew he himself was attractive—knew it with every long-drawn gaze thrown in his direction, with every husky whisper murmured into his ear from beautiful women and elegant men. He knew it, even if he hated the attention.

 _It was something about your eyes_ , they would say. _It was something about the tousled richness of your hair_ , they would groan into his ear. _It was something about the litheness of your frame, of the defiance pumping through your veins_ , they would moan when he took them to their bed.

Harry knew it well, but this man far outclassed him.

Where Harry was lithe, an athletic tone to his body wrought from daily visits to the gym and casual games of football with his mates, this man was cut from stone. Harry could see the power in his hands, the subtle strength hidden beneath his well-tailored suit. It was power that could not be readily hidden beneath the many layers of his clothes—attire perfectly suitable for his profession in the political world.

This man left everything to the imagination, but there was something primal about the way the man moved. A tantalizing revelation that did nothing to calm Harry’s pacing heart. There was a savage hidden beneath the veneer of aloofness and control; something Harry had at first, failed to notice upon meeting the man. But there was no mistaking it now.

Riddle was a man that knew exactly what he wanted and how to take it, and Harry did not quite know what to make of this. Harry had met this type before, but he had never thought that he would meet someone so young embody this confidence—so proficient at creating masks.

Riddle’s hair was perfectly styled at the crown of his head, a softness to his hair that, if Harry had to guess, tempted many to run their fingers through the lustrous waves. There was not a single hair out of place, save for the single curl that fell lightly on the man’s forehead. The single lock was tantalizing, and Harry could only imagine how easily men and woman alike fell under Riddle’s spell. It was just as riveting as the man’s eyes, but Harry knew for certain that the reason he was staring so hard at the lock was simply to avoid Riddle’s eyes.

Riddle’s eyes were like magnets.

It was definitely an absolute mercy that the curl laid where it did. It gave Harry somewhere else to look—to escape the draw of the man’s eyes. Harry felt like Riddle’s eyes could swallow him whole if he indulged too long, if he made the mistake of staring just as intensely back while sitting across from him at the small table in the café. Harry could make out flecks of grey in the black, but there no discerning where the man’s pupil began and where it ended.

And Harry did not really want to know.

So that was why Harry stared at the skin between his eyes rather than the tempting pools in front of him. Harry needed a level head for the conversation they were having, and it would be difficult to do so if Harry somehow got lost in the color of Riddle’s eyes.

It made Harry a little more sympathetic of the men and women he had previously slept with. He now understood what it felt like to be at the end of such a magnetizing gaze. He could totally see why his previous clients had trouble looking away from his own bright green orbs—or even looking at them.

It was a bit unsettling, really.

“Indeed. Your garments will be laid out on the bed before we leave at eight o’ clock sharp. I expect that you will arrive at the pre-arranged time?” Riddle’s words were more an order than a request. It did not really leaving Harry with any other option but to accept. Harry’s lips thinned into a line, but otherwise did not say anything, choosing instead to nod his head in agreement.

If this were any other situation, if this were any other man, Harry would have definitely told the man to shove his order up his arse. Riddle had sought him out for his escort services and it would harm his reputation to react in such a way. Even if Harry felt like he was chewing on glass at ignoring it. Harry was not some object that could be ordered about—especially when the man spoke to Harry as if he were little more than a bug that he had crushed beneath his polished shoes. But this was not a typical client that thought himself powerful because he had extra spare change.

No, this man was running for Prime Minister and there was little doubt in Harry’s mind that the man was going to win. He was not someone to be trifled with, and although it frayed his nerves to allow this man to talk to him this way, Harry was also sure that he would be out of a job if Riddle even the smallest of indications that Harry was less than perfect. Future Prime Minister Tom Marvolo Riddle was not a man to be trifled with, but that did not mean that Harry would allow the man to do as he wished.

Harry was not an insect, and he was definitely not some timid boy that would roll on his belly if Riddle so desired. Harry was his own person, and although he met his clients mostly by referral, he would not totally sacrifice his pride to maintain his steady pool of clients.

Harry was a professional through and through, but that did not mean that Harry would not put Riddle in his place if he went too far.

“Just so we are clear, this is only for the evening. I have no interest in terminating my profession if this somehow gets too far.” Harry eyed the way the man perked to attention at that, the mirth in his gaze shuttering away to give way to a more dangerous gleam.

Riddle certainly mad Harry nervous—uncomfortable even. But Harry would definitely not admit to such a thing. There were whispers that Riddle was involved in some rather shady things—mostly rumors that Harry had overheard while on the job. It wasn’t really Harry’s business what the man did behind closed doors, but it did little to calm the tension in the air between them. Harry may not have been a federal agent, but that did not mean he was stupid.

“Understood, Mr. Potter. I will no longer have need for your services after you have accompanied me to the Gala. You will be free to pocket the money and live as you please.” Riddle crossed his left leg over his right ankle, the move so seamless that Harry could not help but follow the motion. Harry immediately noted the way the fabric clung tightly to Riddle’s well-developed calves, giving Harry a tantalizing glimpse of what hid beneath Riddle’s wool trousers.

Harry was almost disappointed he would not be sleeping with Riddle, accustomed to that particular aspect of the job. But it was for the best, there was something about Riddle that made him incredibly uncomfortable. The man’s presence left him feeling like a helpless mouse beneath the gaze of a playful snake, so he’d much rather not experience that look for longer than necessary.

“Good. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Riddle.” Harry rose from the seat he had tucked himself in, ignoring the way the man seemed to take him all in, his face as smooth as he did. The predatory look in his gaze seting Harry more on edge than if the man had actually leered at him.

“Please, call me Tom. If this is going to work, we will need to maintain appearances.” Harry simply nodded, narrowing his eyes when the man’s lip twitched, almost as if he were trying to repress a smile.

_Creepy bastard._

“Of course. Have a good night…Tom.” It almost physically pained Harry to say the man’s name, but he was a professional. He had never failed in his work before, and he refused to fail now. Even if it was for someone that literally made his skin itch with unease.

Tom nodded at him before Harry turned and took his leave, ignoring the sensation of Riddle’s gaze on his back as he left.

  

* * *

 

 

Harry walked into the hotel room without hesitation, placing the key card on the night stand as he shut the hotel room door before heading immediately for the bathroom.

He had barely made it by the required time and he needed to get dressed quickly before Riddle arrived. Harry was already annoyed that he had been made late by an old client he had had the misfortune of running into. He had tried to leave as quickly as he could, but the bastard had not made it easy. One would think that a simple no would suffice, but apparently the word did not penetrate the thick skull of that arsehole. Harry had had to cut things off after the man had tried to force Harry to abandon his profession—inviting Harry out to dates, crashing events that the old man predicted Harry would be attending.

Harry did not do relationships with his clients, it was an oath he had taken and never saw fit to break. The men and women he saw were a stable income that often led to lavish nights and a full belly by the end of it all, but it was nothing more than that.

Harry had his own life outside the hotel room walls and the posh dining tables of the manors his clients typically lived in. He had friends that knew about what he did, but did not judge him for the work. He had family that knew nothing at all, but were simply happy that Harry was making the most of his life despite the shitty hand he’d been dealt.

It was hard to grow up without both of his parents, but he had definitely made the most of it. It eventually led him to Sirius, and that was everything Harry could have asked for.

His godfather had tried to get Harry to move in with him, but Harry absolutely refused. Not when he did what he did for a living. It was too much of a risk. Harry knew that his godfather only wanted to build the connections that prison had not allowed for the both of them to build, but Harry had chosen his path.

He was a professional escort and there was simply no room for him in Sirius’s home when he could possibly bring powerful families into his bed. Especially when such a thing only led to trouble. He could never do something like that to Sirius—not after all the man had gone through.

Wherever Harry went, trouble always came creeping up after him. Death threats were common place with his line of work, and he definitely received his fair share of them. The stalking bit was properly what sucked most about his line of work, but nothing a scuffle could not remedy.

Sirius has not been out of prison for long, and Harry would feel immense guilt bringing all that baggage with him. Sirius deserved peace and all that Harry could offer, short of living with the man.

And that was perhaps what had Harry jumping into a scalding shower without hesitation, sifting his fingers through his hair to clean out the impurities of another day of playing football with Ron and his brothers.

He could smell the sterility of the shampoo, a regular brand that would do nothing to tame Harry’s locks, but would have him smelling clean. He rinsed the soap into his hands, sighing blissfully at the feeling of his fingers massaging the shampoo onto his head, before ducking under the pouring water.

It burned him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, but Harry enjoyed the feeling nevertheless. There was just something about hot water that seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders; that washed away the memories and the touches of previous men and women from his flesh.

It left him feeling pristine.

When the soap had washed out of his hair, he grabbed a bar of soap and massaged the bar over his body, paying close attention to his underarms. He tended to sweat profusely when he was nervous and it would not be a good idea to break out in a sweat in the middle of a fancy party with power-hungry vultures.

Harry laughed when he imagined the look Riddle might give him if he noticed that Harry had sweat stains underneath his arm pits only five minutes into the party. Harry cackled to himself, keeping his eyes closed as he pictured the grimness on the man’s lips, the man’s desire to scowl blatant in his gaze.

Harry, so distracted by his thoughts, slipped on the slippery floor, a yelp leaving him when he tried to grab onto the shower handle to balance himself. But instead of meeting the cold metal of the shower door, he felt an arm snake around his waist just before he thought he’d bash his brains in the tub.

He was breathing harshly, unable to make out what was in front of him because he had left his glasses by the sink before he got in to bathe. He could make out the blurry shape of dark hair and a pale face, but nothing more. The colors bled into one another and Harry squinted in hopes that he’d recognize his would be savior.

The odds were that it was Riddle, considering he was the only other person with key access to the room. But why would the man come into the shower if he had no inclination to sleep with Harry at all? Hell, Riddle had made it perfectly clear that Harry was only meant to be his partner for the Gala and no more despite contracting Harry for the entire night and flirting with him.

It hardly made sense to Harry. He knew that they both had to maintain appearances, but they were clearly not in public view now. What would be the point in all this?

 “Ri-Tom?” He corrected himself, finally finding his balance and batting away Riddle’s arms to stand. The shower was still on and spraying hot water, but Harry paid it little mind when Riddle, almost reluctantly, drew his arms away and stepped out from the shower’s spray.

Harry hoped the man was not already dressed. Wool suits were expensive and did not do well under water. Harry would rather swallow bleach than be indebted to this man.

 “Can’t have you bashing you brains in. I need you untouched this evening.” The man drawled, not leaving the bathroom despite Harry’s nakedness. There was something in the man’s tone that made Harry want to cover himself up, but he resisted the impulse.

He had been naked in front of others countless times, this was not his first rodeo.

“But that does not explain why you were in the bathroom in the first place. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your saving my arse.” Harry made sure to keep his discomfort out of his tone, turning his attention to where he recalled the valves of the shower were, before shutting off the water.

Harry turned his attention back to Riddle, wishing he could see the sort of expression the man wore.

There was a pregnant pause after that, and Harry felt goosebumps start to rise across his flesh. He was cold and the knowledge that Riddle was watching him did nothing to calm the sliver of apprehension crawling up his spine.

“I needed to grab something from the bathroom. I did not think it mattered whether I saw you nude or not, considering your line of business.” Riddle finally replied stepping away from Harry before turning his back. “I apologize for the slight.”

Riddle did not sound the least bit apologetic, but Harry ignored it in favor of grabbing the towel he had left on the toilet. He dried himself quickly, absorbing all the moisture from his hair and his skin before wrapping it around his hips.

He stepped out of the tub, and grabbed his glasses from the counter. He slipped the wiry frames over his nose and sighed with relief at having his vision back. The fact that Riddle had not turned around to watch him dry himself made the situation all the better.

He stepped around Riddle, hyperaware of the way his shoulder brushed against Riddle’s in the narrow opening before bee-lining to the outfit laid out for Harry on the bed.

The suit was a rich dark green, the color of it contrasting with the whiteness of the sheets. It looked expensive, and noting from the vibrancy of the color, brand new as well.

Riddle had purchased a brand new suit and Harry was not sure what to think of that. Harry was used to expensive gifts, but this was a bit extreme for just one night. Despite the familiarity Riddle regarded him with, this was the first time Harry had ever worked with the man—it typically took a couple of nights before Harry’s clients saw fit to gift him something of value.

Harry reached out for the shirt laid out beside the jacket, the silky fabric pleasant against his overheated skin. Damn, Harry did not know what to make of this at _all._

Harry untied the towel at his waist, ignoring the burning of Riddle’s gaze against his back as he wrapped the towel around his head to dry his locks. Harry’s hair was not long, but he did not want to risk ruining the fabric with his wet hair. He may not like Riddle, but that did not mean he had to take his displeasure on the suit.

After all, Harry needed to be poised and elegant—everything a man should be under Riddle’s arm.

He kept the towel wrapped around his head, ignoring just how ridiculous Harry likely looked with it on his head, before unbuttoning the shirt and putting it on. If that meant looking ridiculous for a few short minutes to dry his hair, then he’d do it. Harry was not working for free, and he would not ruin the solid reputation he had built by failing to meet the man’s expectations.

The fabric felt just as good on his back and chest as it did on his fingers when he had admired it earlier. It was cool against his skin and soft.

This was definitely an expensive gift.

After admiring the fabric for a few more seconds, he quickly buttoned up the shirt, ignoring the man watching him closely from behind.

He reached for the pants, reveling in the texture of the wool against his fingers just as he had the silk shirt, before stepping into them. It should have disturbed Harry how perfectly they fit around his hips, at the way they clung to his thighs and arse to accentuate the tautness of his muscles, but Harry tried not to think too closely on that.

Though it did nothing to stop the way his skin flushed a bright red at the fact. His cheeks felt uncomfortable warm, the heat spreading from his face to the tips of his ears. It was curse really, the way his body betrayed him this way. But Harry could not help it, Harry was not blind to the tension brewing in the silence that had fallen between them. It made something pleasant coil in Harry’s stomach, and he inhaled deeply from his nose to ignore it.

_Get it together, Harry. You are not sleeping with this man._

Harry tucked the shirt into his trousers, zipping and buttoning it up without hesitation. He reached for the dark green vest, and slipped into the fine fabric, again ignoring the way it wrapped around him perfectly as if it were made entirely for him.

In all honestly, it probably was. Riddle was rich enough to afford this sort of grandeur, but it was still rather strange the lengths the man had gone to ensure that the piece was perfect for Harry to wear. It made Harry wonder when exactly he had given the man his measurements because Harry could not recall that ever coming up in conversation the day before.

Harry ignored the whisper of unease in that, before shrugging on the jacket.

He noticed that there were shoes on top of the bed as well as white socks. The shoes were dark brown, pairing perfectly with the rich green of his suit. It made Harry wonder to what lengths the man had gone to acquire such a thing—to have search for the right shade of green to make the green in his own irises stand out.

When Harry felt appropriately dressed and like he was ready to face the man that had been burning holes into his back, he finally turned to face the man. Harry immediately noticed the guarded look in the man’s gaze, but chose not to comment on it. Harry honestly did not want to know.

Despite the iciness in Riddle’s eyes; however, the man still managed to look completely at ease. He looked completely comfortable in his own skin, and it made Harry seethe silently. Riddle had him completely on edge since he had arrived, and it really ate at him that he seemed to be the only one so affected.

Harry sat down before quickly putting on his shoes, unsure of how long he had taken to get dressed. But choosing to take his sweet time regardless. He hoped the man lost his patience and just cut the whole thing off, honestly. He had negotiated cancellation terms onto the agreement, so he wouldn’t really be losing anything if the man decided to cut things off through no fault on Harry’s part.

When Harry finally finished, he quirked a questioning brow at Riddle, wondering if the man was even breathing at all with how still he was standing. The air around Riddle was stagnant, so icy and tense that Harry could not help responding subconsciously to the tension by inching further away from him.

“We are right on schedule. Get up so that I can take a good look at you.” Harry complied, reigning in his unease when Riddle closed the distance between them and removed the towel from Harry’s head. Riddle’s hands did not touch Harry directly, but Harry could feel Riddle’s fingers even through the towel.

It was unnerving how aware Harry was of Riddle. He had never been intimidated like this before—nervous, sure. There was always something unnerving about working with someone new, but this man was his own special sort of uncomfortable.

Harry was caught between wanting the man to shag him or let him go. It was a battle that Harry had no clue how to deal with, so he simply ignored it. Repressed his own urges in favor of eyeing the man that, somehow, still managed to look immaculate despite having gotten his shirt drenched earlier in the bathroom.

There was another suit hanging near the door, so it was a relief to note that Riddle did not just sacrifice his flawlessness in favor of saving Harry’s arse. The man moved to the door, unhooking the suit from where he had placed it before laying it on the bed gently.

It was an action that struck Harry completely. Riddle was known as the most ruthless man in the political world, masking his decisions behind a veneer of politeness and charm. The man moved with purpose, did not speak without there being a motive for doing so. To see this gentleness was something Harry would never have expected from the man, but then, Harry wondered what the man’s intentions were in showing him this.

Riddle did not do things without a purpose—he practically bled that from his pores when he had met with Harry the day before with his proposal. Riddle did not bother to hide himself from Harry and it was truly a wonder just what kind of game Riddle was playing.

Harry was used to manipulation, having worked with snakes in the past, but this was foreign to him. He had overhead the ploys concocted by the seething ex-wives of powerful rich men, had been privy to the exploits of older men luring younger, more naïve men into their beds. Harry had heard it all from the comfort of their chambers—sprawled naked on their bed or draped over them as he breathed harshly from an intense night of sex.

Harry had never been a part of the plans—never the person in direct line of fire.

Harry narrowed his gaze on the man, watching the way Riddle shrugged off his moist dress shirt before shrugging it over his frame without hesitation.

Harry could not help but stare at Riddle’s nakedness. He could see the strength in each protrusion of muscle, of each individual cut to his skin that had little to do with the recreational gym visits and more to do with meeting strict dietary limitations and personal training. This man was perfectly controlled—there was no mistaking it.

It was almost sad how much control the man exercised in his life. It made Harry wonder just what it was the politician was reigning in.

Riddle buttoned the shirt back up, his gaze suddenly cutting to Harry’s in the silence of the room. Harry froze, mouth agape when the man smiled mischievously in his direction before unbuttoning his trousers. The sound of Riddle’s zipper cut through the stillness in the room like lightening, startling Harry away from the frozen stupor Riddle’s eyes had put him under.

Harry scowled at him, staring into Riddle’s eyes defiantly as the man tucked his shirt back into his trousers and zipped it closed.

Harry was upset at how relieved he felt when Riddle finally turned his gaze away to slip his suit jacket over his frame. Harry hated how powerless he felt in that precise moment—how the man just seemed to wrap him up in his web without Harry noticing until it was entirely too late.

Fucking politicians and their damn mind games. He was just an escort, this was not how the night was supposed to go.

“If you will, Harry. It is time that we take our leave.” Riddle extended his arm out, his gaze glittering with mirth when Harry begrudgingly linked his arm in Riddle’s before exiting the room.

If this was what Riddle had planned for the entire evening, Harry felt like he might start screaming.

  

* * *

 

 

The drive was quick, almost mercifully so. Riddle did not speak to him the entire ride, and Harry felt no need to break the silence, finding the world going past much safer than the predator reclining so comfortably in the limo.

Harry did not understand why the man had to go to such lengths when a simple car would have been sufficient to get them where they needed to go. Riddle did not need to show off, the man already had the world of Britain literally on its knees, the masses begging for something they themselves could not quite explain.

It was entirely unnecessary and it made the reality of where they were going much more nerve racking. Harry was an escort, but he had never personally been hired to work something as large as this. He knew his part, knew what he needed to say if one of Riddle’s colleagues asked, but that was neither here nor there.

It did not help settle the nerves in Harry’s gut, or silence the thoughts in his mind telling him just how much of a bad idea it was to agree to this in the first place. He faintly wondered what his life could have been like had his godfather not have been in prison for the majority of Harry’s life—what Harry would have been like and what job he could have had if life had not dealt him the hand it did.

Sure, he had the most amazing pair of friends he could have ever asked for. And a surrogate family that treated him better than his actual blood relatives did. There were people in his life that he was grateful for, but what Harry would not give to have some normalcy in his life.

It did not matter if Harry was an escort or not, trouble always found him in the strangest of places. It was how he had met his friends in the first place—nearly killed when a rabies infested dog had gotten loose from the Veterinary clinic near their school.

Just what were the odds of something like that happening? Harry was sure that if there was just a sliver of a chance of something happening, it would become more likely than not. A possibility turning into a probability in seconds.

It was how Harry had found himself arm and arm with Riddle, the layers of their clothes doing little to abate the burning Harry felt from the contact.

He smiled politely at one of the gentlemen Riddle was speaking to, having practiced the motion numerous times in front of the mirror so that it would be nothing short of perfect. The man looked dazzled by it, the pupils in his eyes dilating in obvious interest.

Harry wanted to snicker, but refrained from doing so. He was not Harry Potter tonight. He was just Harry, his last name lost in the sea of polite conversation and power exchanges between the powerful man at Harry’s side and the weak-willed politicians orbiting him.

Harry could tell immediately who Riddle favored, and who…Riddle did not. The man radiated a magnetism that drew all quickly to him, like moths to an electrical trap that shocked all those that got too near. He could see where the people fizzled just from the proximity between Riddle and them; it was almost a miracle that Harry himself had not caught on fire from the sheer intensity alone.

“Now who is this charming young man?” Harry perked to attention at the sultry tone, careful to hide the contempt in his gaze when he caught sight of the last person he ever wanted to see in such a place.

Bellatrix Lestrange, his godfather’s insane cousin.

Harry had never met her personally, but he had heard enough from Sirius to feel an intense dislike for the woman. It was unfortunate how beautiful she was, though. She should be as ugly as she was on the inside rather than the curvaceous creature that batted her lashes at Harry’s face.

Harry felt like he was being undressed by her gaze alone, and he felt a wave of nausea overtake him at the thought of just what the woman was imagining. Her hair was wild, but the curls glimmered pleasantly underneath the chandeliers of the main ballroom. Her dress stuck to her frame like a second skin, the richness of the fabric showing rather than hiding the way her hips swelled, or the creamy pale skin of her bosom. Harry was hit immediately by the amount of cleavage, but he ensured that his gaze did not stray any lower than her nose.

“My name is Harry. It is a pleasure to meet you, madam.” Harry said the words with a practiced purr that he did not feel, watching the way Bellatrix considered him for a moment, her attention riveted by something that Harry could not precisely pin.

“Your eyes. It is almost as if I have seen them before.” Bellatrix mused aloud. She considered him for another second, her gaze quickly moving from Harry’s eyes to look to where Harry and Riddle touched. Her eyes were staring intensely at the point where Riddle and Harry’s arm was linked before finally turning to address Riddle himself.

It seemed that Harry had passed her silent test. Whatever that was.

“My my, it is good to see you again, _Minister_ Riddle.” She purred the words out, leaning in so closely that Harry was sure that if a draft suddenly came in, she’d fall directly into Riddle’s space. Riddle smiled at her, his eyes casting a predatory look in her direction. It was almost like watching a train wreck for Harry, he thought he might be violently ill if he continued to watch, but he felt somehow compelled to watch it all unfold.

“Indeed, Bellatrix. I hope that you and your husband are doing well? I hear that you have some interesting ideas for this coming term.” Bellatrix’s smile seemed to take an even sharper edge at the mention of her plans, the insanity easily slipping out from beneath her mask of composure.

It made the hairs of Harry’s neck prickle with unease at what he saw there in her gaze.

How was she related to Sirius at all? They had absolutely _nothing_ in common save for their surname.

“Yes, indeed we do. I do look forward to working with you. And your…partner.” Bellatrix cast her gaze back to Harry just at that second, and he barely had the mind to smile up at her charmingly. Harry had no clue what _that_ even meant, but he paid it little mind.

She was barmy and it would only worry Harry further if he made it more of an issue than it actually was.

“If you will excuse me, Minister. I have a husband to find.” Riddle nodded at her, granting her the permission she had so subtly requested before taking her leave.

Harry watched it all behind a placid smile, unwilling to look at the man at his side after witnessing quite the strange exchange. Harry knew Riddle was shady, but he did not expect him to be _quite_ so heinous to willingly work with the Lestranges.

Harry mourned his ignorance at that precise second. It was one of the drawbacks of being an escort. There were things seen that could never be forgotten and things heard that could never be shared. During the negotiations, Riddle had insisted that Harry agree to a confidentiality clause. How could Harry refuse to such a thing when it was a convenient enough thing for him as well? Harry had expected it even. But it seemed that Riddle’s reasons for it were entirely different from Harry’s own.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Harry?” Riddle drew Harry out of his thoughts, his words spoken directly into Harry’s ear. Harry plastered the smile he had practiced onto his face, leaning into Riddle to whisper his answer into Riddle’s ear—irritated at the fact Riddle had gotten into his personal space without Harry noticing.

He was still entirely unsettled by what he had just realized.

“Absolutely, _Tom._ It was everything I could have expected from such a prominent man as you.” Harry’s tone was sweet, but there was a malice in it that drew a short laugh from Riddle. The man practically radiated amusement, his chest vibrating with soft laughter that Harry ignored in favor of leveling his breaths.

Harry stepped back to catch a glimpse at Riddle’s expression, but Riddle suddenly seized him by the waist, forcing Harry back into Riddle’s orbit. The contact brought their bodies flush together, and Harry exhaled sharply when he felt Riddle lean his head close to press his lips to Harry’s left ear.

There was an audience here, there was no hiding just how close they were. But that was not what had Harry chilled to the marrow of his bones.

He could see Bellatrix a short distance away, looking at the way Riddle and Harry embraced. Harry had expected anger and rage at touching a man Bellatrix surely admired—it was what Harry had come to expect on the job. But it was not anger or rage on her face.

It was pity.

A pity that did not exactly fit on her face at all—the furrow on her brow too pronounced to fool Harry into believing it was a genuine expression.

But why had she even bothered?

“You should have told me that you were not enjoying yourself, Harry. I would have done my best to remedy that.” Harry hissed when Riddle’s fingers suddenly sank painfully to the skin of Harry’s waist, the layers of his suit a poor barrier.

“Riddle!” Harry seethed, grabbing onto the arm at Harry’s waist and wrenching it away from his side. The motion burned, but Harry paid it no mind, instead squeezing his grip on Riddle’s wrist enough to bruise the delicate skin.

Harry would not be beaten down like some puppy.

“Did this not make things more interesting?” Harry groaned when instead of wrenching his wrist out of Harry’s grip, Riddle twisted his arm to seize Harry’s wrist in his own hand. The pressure was nothing Harry had ever felt before—tighter than those of a lover holding him down when they wanted to see Harry unravel.

Harry ground his teeth to stifle the pained sound that wanted to leave him, the pressure tempting him to release his own grip on Riddle’s wrist, but he ignored the urge. Instead, Harry squeezed him Riddle’s wrist in return, hoping that Riddle would back down or at least leave this exchange with a bruise of his own. If someone else noticed what was happening—all the better even. Though Harry sincerely doubted anyone would do more than give them a cursory glance.

It looked like they were embracing as lovers often did. And Harry, despite secretly wanting someone to intervene, did not want to make a scene.

“This was not part of the contract, Riddle!” Harry hissed again when Riddle’s perfectly manicured nails dug into the skin, the sting of it enough to drain a short breath from Harry’s lips.

“Oh, but it is. You agreed to be mine for the entire evening. No frills or limiting language to the terms. It was almost appalling how bare the language of it was considering how fiercely we negotiated the rest.” Riddle mused, his breath hot against Harry’s ear.

“Let me go, Riddle. We are in public and I don’t know about you, but this is not exactly the kind of attention you want before elections.” Harry tried to reason with Riddle, but the man had yet to release him.

“That is true, but do we not look like lovers under the ignorant eyes of the masses? Are we not human just as they, giving in to carnal desires hiding behind the careful masks of poise and etiquette?” Harry breathed in deeply from his nose, hissing when Riddle kissed his ear, his teeth a ghost against the quivering skin.

“I-I thought you weren’t—“ Harry tried to speak, but then Riddle’s teeth were there, stealing the words from Harry’s throat.

“I changed my mind.” Riddle’s reply was simple, a deceptive lightness to the tone that Harry did not believe for a second.

The man was bloody dangerous.

Then Riddle released him abruptly, his wrist burning from where Riddle’s fingers had embedded themselves into the flesh.

Harry immediately fled from the ballroom, too unnerved to even bother with his charade as he trapped himself in the bathroom with no desire to be found.

Riddle would come find Harry when he wanted to, Harry knew. But that did not mean that Harry would make it easy for the man.

  

* * *

 

 

Harry had managed to avoid Riddle for most of the evening.

He was careful enough to fulfil his part of the contract, but did no more than what was required of him.

Whenever it seemed that Riddle was catching onto his scent, Harry immediately holed himself in the bathroom. It was as posh as the rest of the hotel was—the sinks gleaming perfect silver and the walls almost like mirrors with how polished they were. It was really not the worst situation he had ever put himself in.

Harry ignored it all in favor of sitting on the toilet, trying to pinpoint when exactly the night had become the way it did. Sure, Harry knew that Riddle was attracted to him as much as Harry was to him—he’d have to be dense not to see how thick the tension between them was.

But Harry had not been prepared for the savagery hiding behind the mask. Harry knew that Riddle hid something about himself—every man did in their own way when trying to reach the top. He knew that Riddle was an ambitious man, a silver tongued manipulator that lived and breathed politics.

He was a snake—definitely. A conniving man that forced people into corners simply because he wanted to see if he could. He cared little for the feelings of others, using them just as he was using Harry to attract the attention of the political socialites in the Gala. Harry had suspected there was a far more hidden game at play when he had been in the hotel with him earlier, having caught that Riddle had set his machinations on him rather than on prominent figures in the hall.

But how the bloody hell was he supposed to know it would end up like this?

He had thought the man just wanted to see him fail—to crush him. That was something more predictable. But their interactions in the Gala had revealed just how wrong Harry had been, at least about this aspect. Riddle had not set his sights on anyone else since entering the ballroom, choosing instead to lead Harry through the decadent space to introduce him to prominent political figures.

Harry still had no bloody idea what Riddle’s angle was, but there was little he could do about that mystery now. He was holed up in the bathroom until he was compelled to leave again—until the party was finally over and he was free to disappear.

He crept out from the stall he had locked himself in, choosing instead to stand in front of the giant mirrors in the bathroom. He was sick of sitting on the toilet—he felt restless and unsure, and he just needed to move to exercise this energy from his limbs.

When Harry had the misfortune of seeing himself in the mirror, Harry could hardly recognize himself. There was something in his own gaze that Harry had never seen in himself before. A glimmer in his eye that alluded to his own apprehension and fear. But there was hunger in them too, one that Harry’s own fear fed into too. It was a vicious cycle—the snake swallowing its own tail. The interaction between the conflicting emotions amplifying one another.

Harry could not bear to look any longer.

Harry heard the door open, and froze, not expecting for anyone to get into a _locked_ room. But what did it matter? Harry did expect Riddle to seek him out at some point in the night.

Harry did not bother to turn around to face just who it was that walked in. Harry already knew who it was, even if he had not expected for the door to yield so easily to the man. Riddle must have gotten a key or security involved somehow.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” Riddle sounded amused, but Harry did not let that deceive him. The man had a thousand faces and only one of them was real. Harry was just not sure which one Riddle was wearing now.

Harry heard Riddle step further into the room, his breathing coming in short pants as he tried to ease his nerves. Harry was again caught at a crossroads—afraid, so very afraid of this man, but also attracted despite it.

His power was addicting, but the danger there was truly what had Harry unsure of how to react. Harry did not know how to play the game Riddle was playing—Harry knew how to seduce, to charm, after years of practice, but to deal in fear? To play the prey knowing that it will be consumed by the predator? This was not something Harry himself had ever been keen on.

His past clients were too old for that kind of thing, desiring someone to warm their empty beds at night or someone to talk to and pretend.

Harry doubted Riddle wanted any of that.

“Do you want to know why I hired you, Harry?” Harry shivered when the man came up behind him, Riddle’s fingers touching lightly at his sides. “Why it had to be you to accompany me to this disgusting cesspool of sycophants?” Harry exhaled deeply when Riddle kissed down his neck, a softness to it that contrasted heavily from the violence Riddle had touched him with earlier.

“It was not easy finding you, you know.” Riddle grinded into Harry’s arse, the sensation drawing a hiss from Harry’s lips. Riddle’s hands were light as a feather, but there was no mistaking the hunger in his voice and the hardness pressed against his arse. Riddle wanted him. There was no denying it, but the fact that he had to make Harry suffer through a torrent of emotions was really where the game lied.

_Sick bastard._

“Oh? You went out of your way; canceled some meetings just to spend some time with an escort?” Harry wanted to laugh, but moaned instead when Riddle unzipped Harry’s trousers and freed his hardened cock, the hand pumping him once.

Harry had no idea when exactly he had gotten hard, but he ground it into Riddle’s hand nevertheless. Another moan caught in Harry’s throat when Riddle pushed him into the sink, Harry’s hands catching himself so that his face did not smash into the mirror in front of him.

Harry could only see himself, and he was mortified at what he saw there.

“I only desire the best. And you are certainly—“ Riddle practically ripped Harry out of his trousers, uncaring that at any moment someone could walk in on both of them—the notion both frightening and thrilling.

Harry felt like he was caught between the two emotions too often since meeting this man.

“W-wait, Riddle. You have a hotel room—“ Harry whined when Riddle started to pump his cock, the wet sound of it so distracting that Harry did not remember what he was trying to say.

“No time, I want you _now_.” Riddle pressed his fingers against his crack, his fingers teasing along his rim in a fashion that made Harry squirm.

“ _God_ , Riddle.” Harry hissed when the man did nothing but play with the outside, pumping Harry too slowly for his taste. “Put it in already!”

Harry felt Riddle laugh behind him, still not bothering to dig his fingers where Harry wanted him most.

“Are you ordering me around, Harry Potter?” There was an edge to his tone that made Harry’s heart beat more quickly, the fear and anticipation coiling deliciously in his gut.

“ _Fuck_.” Harry swore when Riddle stopped pumping him as well, his fingers wrapped tightly around his cock but doing nothing to relieve the ache he was feeling.

“Perhaps, if you ask more nicely, I might be willing to comply?” Riddle teased and Harry outright refused to beg. Sure, he had done so in the past with previous lovers to speed things along. But this was different.

“Fuck you.” Harry snarled, bucking to force Riddle into renewing his touches.

“That’s not very polite, Harry.” Harry whined when Riddle, rather than dig his fingers into his arse, slapped at the skin. It stung, but it wasn’t nearly as painful as when Riddle had nearly broken his wrist with how tightly the man had held his wrist earlier in the evening.

“I-is that all you’ve got? I suppose you’re all bark and no bi— _ah!_ ” Harry yelped when Riddle suddenly seized him by the hair, tears forming at the corners of his eyes from the pressure, before slamming his face into the glass.

His face ached, and he barely had time to prepare himself, before Riddle began to furiously stroke him. Harry moaned from the pressure of it, coaxed by the way Riddle’s hand left Harry no moment to gather himself. Harry could have easily come from his alone, but the way Riddle squeezed him made it difficult for him to quite tip over the edge.

Tom then pressed his lips to his ear, taking in the flesh between his teeth, before biting it harshly. Harry was overwhelmed by the sensations, and whined when Riddle stopped pumping him again. Harry tried to push back then, but Riddle’s grip on his head was tight and did not allow Harry to even think of moving.

“I could easily split you open right now, Harry. Get off on the sounds of your pained cries as I take you in this bathroom. Don’t test my patience, I’d rather not have to land you in the hospital.” Riddle’s voice was soft, but there was a threat to the words that made something hot coil in Harry’s gut.

Harry felt disgusted with himself at how aroused he was.

“It’s your choice, Harry. It hardly matters to me how I have you writhing and screaming beneath me.” And Harry believed him, he could feel it in the power of Riddle’s body pinning him against the bathroom sink, could hear it in the hoarseness of Riddle’s voice. This man would tear him open with little regard to his own pleasure if Harry pushed too far, and Harry was tempted to.

So tempted that he wanted to smack himself at just how reckless the desire was.

“D-do your worst.” Harry muttered, breaths coming in short pants. His words did not sound as intimidating as he would have liked, but he was happy that he managed to get the words out before Riddle released his death grip on Harry’s cock, dragging them slowly to Harry’s hole.

He was trembling at the way Riddle teased him, the promise of pain and pleasure woven so tightly together making it difficult for Harry to come to his senses. He didn’t fuck his clients raw—never raw.

But he was going to break one of his cardinal rules, if the warmth pressed against his arse was anything to go by.

Harry hissed when Riddle’s finger breached him, Harry’s pre-cum the only lubricant to aid him. It burned furiously, but Harry did not dare complain. He had made his choice when Riddle had dangled it before him like a treat—and now Riddle was going to break him.

The finger was gentle despite the threat hanging over Harry’s head, moaning and gasping as Riddle searched for Harry’s prostate. Harry knew that the moment the man found it, all pretense of gentleness would melt along with it, and Harry could hardly contain his fear at the prospect of that.

He thrusted into him for what felt like an eternity, and then, Riddle seeming to lose his patience, pressed a second finger before he had found what he was looking for. Harry whined from the pain, trying to force his body away, but he had nowhere else to go. Riddle had a firm grip on his head and he had thoroughly pinned Harry to the sink.

He could not have escaped even if he tried.

Riddle was kissing at his throat as he buried his fingers inside him, twisting and scissoring through his insides as he did. Harry felt like was ready to fall apart and this had only just started.

Harry groaned when Riddle suddenly sank his teeth into Harry’s throat through his shirt, the pressure of Riddle’s teeth biting down enough to bruise. Harry tried to keep his composure despite the building heat in his belly—despite the burning and churning where Riddle’s fingers touched him.

It was too much.

“T-To—“ Harry tried to speak the man’s name, but when Riddle suddenly brushed against his prostrate, nudging the small bundle viciously with his fingers, Harry was speechless. His felt himself lock up completely, white flashing behind his eyelids from the intensity.

“Hmm, there you are.” Riddle groaned into his neck, jamming his fingers repeatedly on the spot until Harry was practically screaming. He wanted to feel embarrassed of the sight he was making, but he could not scrounge up the emotion when Riddle continued to fuck him with his fingers.

“Tom, plea- _ah_.” Harry tried to tell him to stop, to give him a moment to catch his breath as he unraveled so completely. But Tom did not grant him mercy, pressing another finger into his arse instead to stretch him wider.

Harry’s eyes rolled to the back his head from the sensation, his mouth slack and drooling against the cold glass pressed against his face.

“Does it excite you to know how helpless you are, Harry?” Riddle groaned into Harry’s throat, lapping up at the skin peeking through the collar of Harry’s shirt. “That I will take my pleasure from you with little regard for your desires? Does it scare you how much you want this?”

Harry shook his head, unable to speak when Riddle continued to ram into his prostate with little mercy.

“You look beautiful. And so _mine_.”

Riddle groaned before pulling his fingers from Harry’s arse. Harry felt lightheaded, unable to do more than whimper when Riddle pressed his cock into his wet hole.

Harry was prepared for the pain of it—knew that Riddle lacked both the kindness and the patience to properly lubricate Harry’s arse.

“You fought against me admirably, but you never really wanted to win, did you?” Riddle teased his cock on his arse, sliding his fingers back to Harry’s cock to tease at his slit. “You loved being chased just as much as I loved chasing you. You _wanted_ me to catch you.”

Harry shook his head to deny it, opening his mouth to refute his words but thinking better of it when Riddle suddenly forced his head into Harry’s hole in that second.

“N-no—“ Harry tried, but Riddle did not give him a chance to speak further.

“ _Yes_ , if you could only see how easily your arse swallows up my cock—“Riddle pressed further in and Harry cried out when Riddle continued to push despite the sharp pain. The man did not stop and Harry could only hiss out harsh breaths as he tried to ignore the agony. Riddle was splitting him in two, but he could not help how the agony of it made his cock harden more.

 _I’m so fucked_.

Harry wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all—being forced open in the middle of a political Gala. He wondered what his friends would think, what _Sirius_ would say if he knew that Harry was currently being ripped open by the future Prime Minister.

When Riddle completely seated inside him, he waited. Harry wondered idly how much restraint the man was showing to stop there, to not continue to pry him open until there was absolutely nothing left of defiant Harry Potter.

The thought of it both sickened and aroused Harry, and he was almost grateful that the man could not see his face.

Riddle’s hand continued to tease him despite the stillness in his limbs, waiting for the moment Harry was unable to control himself.

_Sick bastard._

But Riddle did not wait for Harry to completely gather himself together, did not wait for the tell of Harry jerking his hips forward at the touch of Riddle’s hands on the head of his cock. No, he slid out of Harry suddenly and slammed right back in before Harry had even expected it.

Harry cried out, his hands slamming into the mirror in a pathetic attempt from his part to ground himself. He felt completely out of control, like he was falling with no way of ending it.

“Let yourself feel, Harry.” Riddle kissed his ear then, before setting a brutal pace, his cock stirring something within Harry that Harry did not want to name. He felt shame prickling at the corners of his eyes, overwhelmed entirely by the pain and the arousal he felt when Riddle continued to furiously fuck him against the sink.

Riddle had yet to graze his prostate, but Harry knew it was a purposeful action. The man wanted Harry come undone around his cock, but only after Harry reflected on the fact that the pain only made him crave his own release.

It was sick, but this was the kind of mind games Riddle enjoyed playing. Harry knew it then when Riddle laughed into Harry’s ear before wrapping his hand around Harry’s length and pumping him furiously.

Harry was close to the edge, but he fought it down fiercely.

“I only wish I could see your face as you break apart, but there will be more opportunities for such a thing.” Harry should have expected it, should have known what Riddle’s words meant, it may have given him a chance to compose himself. It might have made Harry last a whole lot longer.

But when Riddle’s hips shifted, Harry could not repress a scream when the man began to jam his hips into Harry’s prostate. His pace was brutal, the burning and the sharp ache in his arse overridden by the pleasure blinding his vision.

He came hard, his breaths harsh as he was forced over the cliff he had been desperately trying to not fall past. Riddle was merciless despite everything, milking Harry’s cock despite how painfully sensitive he had become after his orgasm.

“S-stop!” Harry cried.

He tried to buck the man off, to get the man to stop stroking him and slamming into his prostate. It was too much, so much that Harry was babbling absolute nonsense.

When Riddle finally came, Harry was almost grateful for it. Relieved that the man would no longer tease at his flesh despite how painful the pleasure was—how humiliating and shameful it was.

“I look forward to doing more business with you, Harry. This was quite the treat.” Harry shuddered at the wetness in his arse, relieved when Riddle pulled out of him.

“Now let’s get you cleaned up, the night is still young.”

Harry wanted nothing more than for the night to be over, his embarrassment weighing heavily in his gut.

 


End file.
